


High Hopes & Heartbreak

by carolion



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook calls him perfect a lot. (David hates it.) Sometimes they fight about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Hopes & Heartbreak

David likes pictures. _Photographs_ , actually, he likes photographs, but he’s not very good at taking them, so he likes the photographs that others take. There’s something interesting in seeing the world from another perspective, in this tiny little square of paper, inked out and perfect and almost real but not quite. Capturing a moment in time, trying, so hard, to hold onto that memory or that place or that person.

He doesn’t like the photographs that Cook takes, mostly because Cook likes to take photographs of _him_. They are not usually very good. Blurry, because Cook can never stop moving, and because David likes to duck out of the way, or sometimes just the corners of his face or his body, or too close or too dark. Every now and then Cook will sneakily watch him and use the zoom focus, standing too far away for David to realize what he’s doing, and he’ll gloat later, waving the developed photo in his hand, cooing over David’s _’fucking eyelashes, look at your mouth, what are you doing with your hands? You’re perfect.’_

Cook calls him perfect, a lot. (David _hates_ it.) ~~Sometimes~~ They fight about it.

“Stop it Cook, stop it!” David yells, and he’s never yelled so much since meeting Cook. He never used to raise his voice, even when his siblings were being their most annoying, even when his friends used to infuriate him, teasing him to the point of frustrated tears. But no one but Cook forces him to this breaking point.

“I haven’t done anything!” Cook spits back, but his eyes are bright and David thinks there’s a part of Cook that _likes_ this, likes the fighting and the drama. He’s got the camera in his hands and David closes his eyes, swallows against the bile rising in his throat.

He quiets the angry sob that wants to come out and shakes his head shortly instead. “I can’t – I can’t deal with this right now. Okay? Please.” He feels like he’s always the one asking ‘please,’ always the one trying to calm the storm and keep peace between them. “Please Cook.” He closes his eyes wearily.

“I can’t help it,” Cook says, his voice low and soothing, but it’s not right, it’s not right _at all_ , “I need you. You keep me sane baby,” and he reaches out and curls a hand around David’s neck.

David yanks away, shrinking from the touch. _’Baby’_ , he thinks, and wants to retch. The pet name used to make him feel wanted, _loved_ , but now all he can think about is how patronizing it sounds coming from Cook, whose tone of voice hasn’t changed at all, still casual despite the way David is fraying at the edge. _’Baby’_ but he’s not a baby any more, he’s not a _child_ , and he’s not a _pet_ and he’s not – he’s _not_ what Cook needs.

“I don’t,” David says, feeling like a cornered animal, with the way Cook is swaying towards him, confused and reaching. “I don’t, I’m not, Cook, _don’t_ ,” he snaps, when Cook tries to touch him again. He doesn’t want to be touched, and he wraps his arms around himself defensively.

“Archie-“ Cook says warily, and there’s a dawning light in his eyes, an extra furrow in the crease of his brow like he gets it, like he’s understanding this is more, this is serious, this is _real_.

“ _No_ ,” David cuts him off, and his voice feels thick in his throat, “ _no_ , I can’t be that person right now, not anymore. I can’t be the one to keep you sane Cook, that has to be _you_. You need to stop needing me. I can’t – I can’t be who you want me to be!” It’s like the truth finally unraveling and he feels light, lighter than he has in a long time. _He can’t do it_.

Cook frowns but doesn’t come closer. “But baby, you’re _perfec-_ ” and David yells, drowns out the end of his sentence with a wordless sound of utter frustration.

“I’m not! I’m not perfect! I can’t be! I can’t keep _trying_ to perfect, perfect for everyone or perfect for _you_. I want to keep my flaws, I want to be myself. I want to be selfish! I want to stop caring about you!”

He’s panting in the silent room, and a few seconds pass before he realizes what he’s just said. _I want to stop caring about you._

He realizes it’s true though. Loving Cook – loving Cook for these past two years – it’s exhausting. An up and down roller coaster that he’s still not sure has been worth it. They don’t fit, maybe they never did, but David always fell into Cook and Cook sheltered him and protected him, made him feel safe, while simultaneously pushing him right to the edge. And their highs had been high, but their lows were so low, and David feels himself cracking, torn and tired and desperate to erase the memory of Cook altogether (no matter how much it hurts – if he never knew him, what would he be like now?)

“You don’t mean that.” Cook says flatly, but his voice is curiously timid almost – almost scared.

“I do,” David replies immediately, and a rush of relief floods him. “This isn’t working.” He says in a softer voice, and it’s not until he says that that he understands they’re breaking up. _This is what breaking up with your boyfriend feels like_ , he tells himself carefully, slowly. It’s the first time – everything with Cook is _always_ the first time. From the first kiss to the first touch to the first fight and the first make up sex. It’s only right that David should experience this first with him as well.

His chest stings, and David rubs his fist against it. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, turning away from Cook, away from the words he was saying – David can’t even comprehend them right now, only hearing Cook’s angry, hurt voice wash over him. He chest stings more, aches really, right below his ribcage and it’s getting harder to breathe with Cook pressing down on him from all angles, every memory playing like a movie screen on the backs of his eyelids.

“Do you not love me? I love you Archie, do you not love me?” Cook demands, and David snaps his eyes open, brought back to the moment. He feels tired, and Cook is vibrating like he usually does when they fights only this time, this time it’s a little different. David knows that the energy is draining from him.

“I do love you,” David insists – his voice cracks. “I _do_ love you Cook, I just don’t _want_ to love you anymore. It’s – it’s too much.” He smiles sadly, and Cook stops his angry posturing.

“You can’t just shut it off David,” Cook says brokenly and David shrugs his shoulders.

“I know. That’s why you have to give me time. This is killing us Cook, and I don’t want it to. I want to be friends again.”

Cook laughs, weird and hollowly. “We were _never_ friends,” he says, and though the words are harsh his tone is more incredulous than cruel, and David isn’t stung because it’s _true_. They were never friends.

“Then I’d like to become your friend.” David amends, watching as Cook withdraws into himself, packs up all of the emotion he usually wears on his sleeves, watches and Cook pulls away from _him_. It hurts, dull and aching, but it’s better than the fighting and the yelling, and the tension. This (he tells himself) is better.

Cook shakes his head. “You don’t get to decide that,” he tells David, and there’s something like betrayal in his eyes. That – that almost makes David mad again, like, how is this his fault? _Cook_ was the one always pushing, always asking for more, and more, it wasn’t like they didn’t see this _coming_.

He licks his lips and almost says something but then just averts his eyes and shakes his head. He’s too conflicted – too mad, too sad, too tired to try and fix the situation. Not that it could be fixed, really, because this was final, this was _done_.

He’d just – he broke up with David Cook. After _two years_ David could finally _rest_.

By the time he realizes he’s kneeling, crying, slow sniffling breaths that open up into huge, wracking sobs, Cook has already left.

The camera is laying on the ground, the screen cracked.


End file.
